The fear remains simple. I am afraid that one day, my quiet spirit will no longer be sufficient in the envelopment of this space.



Once, I wrote this for a contest entry. Since nothing happened, I decided that I could leave it here.

In this world, time travelling is a right. It is not a mere privilege belonging to the well-dressed elites. No matter who you are or what you have done, it is a unique situation where implementing this right is as simple as walking through an office door. A specific one. Alongside the fact that as we all know of our typical government institutions, the waiting line makes for cheery company.

Numbers are taken even as one waits in increasing impatience for the special appointment. Feet are tapping, constructing an unintended chorus of tap dancers if one listened close enough. Here, silence is mandatory. No one wants to know why you are here to change something in the time frame. In fact, they would rather not be enlightened in this manner. This unspoken rule befits all.

A newspaper picked up for perusal is immediately dismissed. The state of the economy is no smiling matter and as it happens, yours truly is an entrepreneur in this field. There is no tomorrow, the headline contemplates. What is tomorrow, however? Is the stroke past midnight, or the voice that tells you keep going forward? We live in a sea of ambiguity, with no permanent anchor to hold us. This reckless freedom brings me to a particular attention.

In this world, the number one has not always been the first. (more…)


Charming things my fiction have said. I’ve decided to give them alternating styles to make it easier for the eyes.

Has she, then, been a constant stranger I’ve been completely unaware of? Then maybe some strangers never quite leave you, and why – I will be sufficient in intrepidity to mention that she should never go.

Don’t leave. Don’t go just when I’m about to find my feet to find you.

I don’t think we can ever point out a reason why we are in that state toward someone, in this prominent attraction. I believe it’s just as simple as this.

It will happen one day, one normal day whilst you are looking at him or her, and realise that you can’t let them go just as they are, just as you are. And that revelation will never leave you the same person again.

I won’t deny you being a catch, but I will not have you as a prize. I want you to win, and so if you are willing, please do.

This game has already been rigged from the start.

You are the face in the crowd that I cannot forget.

Is this how he speaks I love you? Biting another mouthful of cotton candy, I chew properly as I watch him quietly. And I can guarantee that the joy of his heart reaches his eyes, pulling his lips into a full grin. The subtle amount of colouring on his cheeks makes him all the more appealing to me.

So much that I have to turn the other way.

Our lives have collided into one pathway, and I’ll never be the same again.

I don’t want to hurt her with my actions. I have asked for the reason behind such tears before, but a poor smile was all I ever got. So after five until six in the evening is the time in which I would spend my time with her quietly.

Sometimes I would be rearranging the books. Sweeping the floor. Discreetly pass her a piece of tissue. Write her the weirdest poems. Try to make light conversations. Get her a drink. Compliment her shoes. Say some jokes. I sound like I’m in love.

Just don’t let the people who don’t deserve your trust be the reason why you fear trusting. Like I said before, I meant every word. And definitely, every ‘I love you’. I repeat so that you won’t forget.

This connection exists because we’re the same. Somehow, we both want to belong. And so, we exist on the same emotional plane.

Of course I remembered you. I thought of you every day. How you were. Your likes and dislikes. I’m sorry for never telling anyone about you. Because I didn’t want to.

… You’re special.

What a sentimental night, seeing these passages crop up, making the present me wonder how I came to write these things.

This mind will keep writing.


Something I wrote, almost a year ago. I’ve already forgotten all about it.

The past, present and future. They are intertwined, laced fingers; but they cannot carry what the other only can. This is as close as they can get. What is one without the other? A party of three they may be, but they are all vital to the idea of existence and its continuity.